


Vengeance

by delicatelyglitterywriter



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amalia - Original Character, Damien - Original Child Character, Female Ghost Rider, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9436898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicatelyglitterywriter/pseuds/delicatelyglitterywriter
Summary: A re-imagining of Ghost Rider and their scenes with Daisy in season 4.This is largely me experimenting with different formats of fan fiction.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BookedbyFandoms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookedbyFandoms/gifts).



> **Prompt from BookedByFandoms** : “I could tell from the pictures on the wall, that she was once pretty and happy. What a shame she was now dead.”

**_Sometime in the past...._ **

_ I could tell from the pictures on the wall, that she was once pretty and happy. I couldn’t help but think she looked quite a bit like me. It was a shame that she was now dead. I almost felt guilty for killing her. Almost. _

_ I turned away, before I could start feeling guilty. This job was very unforgiving; it didn’t allow for guilt. It also didn’t allow for being caught, which is precisely what I knew I would be if I didn’t get out right now. _

_ If felt like a movie: the door knob being turned slowly, and the window only a short distance, the split-second choice to be made. Should I stay and fight or make a break for it. I chose the latter option. _

_ I landed and rolled to catch myself just as the door swung open and thudded against the wall. I didn’t stay to see which agency it was this time. I simply ran. _

**_Present time…_ **

Turns out the agency who had arrived was Shield. I was quite shocked when I discovered. The last I’d heard, they’d fell after Hydra had been exposed from the very roots of the organisation. And now, here they are, going as strong as ever.

Well, “strong as ever” may be a bit of understatement. I mean, she is strong, I found that out the first time I encountered her. So strong she almost beat me.

**_First encounter…_ **

_ She must be special. Not just anyone could match my skill, punch for punch. Not even top agents I’d fought before could quite match me. And yet, here she was, matching, and almost beating my every move. _

_ I still had the advantage though; we were on my home turf - the back of my workplace. I was familiar with the area, whereas she was not. _

_ But still, she somehow managed to match me. Maybe it was her air-blasting powers, or whatever they were called, but it felt like there was a higher power protecting her. Like, she wasn’t meant to die. At least, not by my hand. _

_ Yet, I still knocked her to the ground and pushed the self over, intending to crush her. I had to know for sure that I wasn’t supposed to be the one to kill her. She of course, stopped them with her powers. _

_ I knelt down beside her, to let the Rider see her. She turned to me. She looked as if she were going to cry. _

_ “Do it,” she whispered. “I deserve it.” _

_ The Rider, however, had other plans. So I drew back, and left her there. _

**_Present time…_ **

I thought that the encounter would be enough to scare her away; it was usually enough for others. Then again, others always ended up dead. Why the Rider decided she should live, I don’t know.

I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself. The box from her van is heavy, and so I can’t help but drop it on the table. The noise is enough to startle her awake. She grunts as she tries to pull herself free.

What? I couldn’t just let her sit in the corner after I’d knocked her out! She’d far too stubborn to just sit quietly while we have a reasonable adult conversation. Besides, she’s a Shield agent, this is the language she speaks.

**_Second encounter…_ **

_ It had been stupid for her to come back. Even more stupid for her to mention Sam. She may have thought it was brave; super spies were always straddling the line between brave and stupid. Although this was definitely the stupid side of the line. _

_ I nearly stumbled backwards as she blasted the rolling filing cabinet in my direction, but I shoved it aside, and then swung the pipe at her. She blocked it with her arm, but the pain was too much for her. She must have overused her powers. _

_ She crumpled to the floor, breathing heavily in an attempt to keep her pain in check. She looked up at me. She had terror and a sparkle of curiosity in her eyes. I took mercy on her and simply punched her across the face to knock her out. _

**_Present time..._ **

I shake my head at her. “You arm is fractured, not broken. But if you keep trying to bust out, I can’t guarantee that it will stay that way.”

Yes, I checked her injuries before tying her up. I’m not a monster. If I’m going to be tying her up, it means I’m going to have to be taking care of her. Part of that includes monitoring her injuries. 

She lets out a huff but seems to resign herself to the fact that, for now, she’s stuck. 

“What’re you doing?” she asks, looking at me digging through the box. 

“I am looking for evidence,” I tell her simply, not bothering to look over.

“Evidence on...what?”

"This has never happened before,” I muse quietly, more to myself than to her, but she seems to take it as a valid explanation.

“What’s never happened before?”

“Never been caught. Well, actually I have, but everyone else who’s caught me has ended up dead.” I look over at her. “You’re the first one who’s caught me that I’ve spared.”

“Why?” She looks as bamboozled as I do, so I turn away and shrug.

“That’s what I’m searching for.”

 


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warnings:** Dark things involving children. Like, Bahrain dark, except darker. Short, but if you wish to skip, stop reading at "Sometime in the past" and commence reading again at the second "Present time".

It’s amazing what can  be revealed when digging through a box found in someone else’s van. For example, I learn that her name is Daisy Johnson, but is currently living under the name Quake. I learn that she’s practical; she has only what she needs. Some of those needs include sentimental items. 

I learn that her last four love interests (Miles, Ward, Trip and Lincoln, I’ve learnt) ended in either betrayal or death. 

“You and I aren’t that different,” I say, pulling out the photo of Lincoln and holding it up. She averts her gaze. “You just feel bad for the dead in your wake. I don’t feel anything.”

That statement may not have been entirely true. I do feel guilty, sometimes. But it was more frequent when I started. Now, it only comes from time to time if it’s particularly hard. 

I leave all this information out. She doesn’t need to know any of it. 

“So, you’re a sociopath?” she snarks. I bite back a smile. I’ve always appreciated snarkiness. It’s an amusing characteristic. I don’t tell her that sometimes I wish I was. It would make what I do a lot easier. 

Instead, I say, “No. Vengeance doesn’t feel guilt.”

**_Sometime in the past…._ **

_In my experience, children don’t experience vengeance. I believe this is because when children do something wrong, it’s because they don’t know any better, and because if someone else does get hurt, it’s never serious injury._

_The exception I cam across was named Damien. He was only seven._

_He’d already lost his mother and little sister in what was described as a “tragic accident”, when their house burnt to the ground one night. The news reported that it was a candle that hadn’t been blown out._

_But the truth was that Damien had started the fire. On purpose. His father was working late that night. Damien didn’t shed a single tear that night. People claimed that it was because of shock._

_But the truth was that Damien didn’t feel a thing. His mind was dark and twisted, and he felt no remorse for killing his mother and sister. He again attacked his family; killing his father just a short month later, pushing him down the stairs. His father had hit his head multiple times, and the police had dubbed it an accident again._

_They blamed it on a scuff in the floor at the top of the stairs that had made him slip. They just couldn’t accept the truth that Damien was capable of such things. The most terrifying part of this story is that there was nothing fundamentally different about his brain; he wasn’t a psychopath, or schizophrenic. He was just a normal kid who for some reason was empty._

_I didn’t wait to find out why he was empty._

_**Present time….** _

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Vengeance? That’s what you call this?” 

“How many times do I have to tell you that they deserved it before you believe me?” I ask, sifting through a few loose sheets. “Your penance is quite believable.”

“Penance?” I bit the inside of my cheek. Had I really hit her that hard that she was confused about everything I said?

“Penance, noun, a punishment undergone in token of penitence for sin.” As I say it, I realize it’s the reason why the Rider kept her alive. She was innocent. Or at least justified. 

“What did you do to have to serve penance?”

"Death has always followed me,” she says, voice void of emotion. “Far too many people have died trying to protect me. Their deaths are my fault.” 

I raise my eyebrows but don’t look at her. That’s a new one, I hadn’t ever dealt with any cases where protection came in to play. Nor had I dealt with any where the Rider had been seemingly satisfied with a person serving penance rather than their death. 

This girl truly is something special. 

I continue sifting through pages when a print-out catches my eye. “Momentum Alternative Energy Lab”, it reads. There’s information regarding its whereabouts, when it shut down, _why_  it shut down. More importantly, in Daisy’s handwriting, in fragments of information, it states why she has the information.

My heart skips a beat when I read the words “Chinese…sold…box…” This is not good. 

“Where did you find this?” I ask, holding up the print-outs.

“It’s amazing what you can do with a laptop and an internet connection.” 

“How long ago did you retrieve this information?” I get up, and pick up the roll of duct tape. I can’t have anyone hearing her call for help while I’m out. 

“Why? Does it mean something to you?” She struggles against me as I press the tape over her mouth. “No! Amalia! No!”

I ignore her and scoop up the print-out again as I leave. I hear her call my name twice more, but I brush her off. If this information is really true than we have a much bigger problem on our hands.


End file.
